Used-To-Be Lovers. Linda Miller Lael

returned to the A-frame, the power was back on. Sharon sent the kids upstairs to bed, and Tony brought a set of tools in from the trunk of his car, along with a special vacuum cleaner and fans.

      While Sharon operated the vacuum, drawing gallon after gallon of water out of the rugs, Tony fixed the broken pipe in the bathroom. When that was done, he raised some of the carpet and positioned the fans so that they would dry the floor beneath.

      Sharon brewed a fresh pot of coffee and poured a cup for Tony, determined to do better than she had in the restaurant as the modern ex-wife. Whatever that was.

      “I appreciate everything you’ve done,” she said with a stiff smile, extending the mug of coffee.

      Tony, who was sitting at the dining table by then, a set of the infernal blueprints unrolled before him, gave her an ironic look. “The hell you do,” he said. Then, taking the coffee she offered, he added a crisp, “Thanks.”

      Sharon wrenched back a chair and plopped into it. “Wait one second here,” she said when Tony would have let the blueprints absorb his attention again. “Wait one damn second. I do appreciate your coming out here.”

      Tony just looked at her, his eyes conveying his disbelief…and his anger.

      “Okay,” Sharon said on a long breath. “You heard the message I left on your answering machine, right?”

      “Right,” he replied, and the word rumbled with a hint of thunder.

      “I didn’t really mean that part where I called you an officious, overbearing—” Her voice faltered.

      “Chauvinistic jerk,” Tony supplied graciously.

      Sharon bit her lower lip, then confessed, “Maybe I shouldn’t have put it in exactly those terms. It was just that—well, I’m never going to know whether or not I can handle a crisis if you rush to the rescue every time I have a little problem—”

      “Why are you so damn scared of needing me?” Tony broke in angrily.

      Sharon pushed back her chair and went to the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee for herself. When she returned, she felt a bit more composed than she had a few moments before.

      She changed the subject. “I was thinking,” she said evenly, “about how it used to be with us before your construction company became so big—before Teddy Bares…”

      Tony gave a ragged sigh. “Those things are only excuses, Sharon, and you know it.”

      She glanced toward the fire, thinking of nights filled with love and music. Inside, her heart ached. “I don’t understand what you mean,” she said woodenly.

      “You’re a liar,” Tony responded with cruel directness, and then he was studying the blueprints again.

      “Where are you sleeping tonight?” Sharon asked after a few minutes, trying to sound disinterested, unconcerned, too sophisticated to worry about little things like beds and divorces.

      Tony didn’t look up. His only reply was a shrug.

      Sharon yawned. “Well, I think I’ll turn in,” she said. “Good night.”

      “Good night,” Tony responded in a bland tone, still immersed in the plans for the next project.

      Sharon fought an utterly childish urge to spill her coffee all over his blueprints and left the table. Halfway up the stairs, she looked back and saw that Tony was watching her.

      For a moment she froze in the grip of some unnamed emotion passing between them, but her paralysis was broken when Tony dropped his gaze to his work.

      Upstairs, Sharon took a quick shower, brushed her teeth, pulled on a cotton nightgown and crawled into the big, lonely bed. Gazing up at the slanted ceilings and blinking back tears of frustration, she wriggled down under the covers and ordered herself to sleep.

      But instead of dreaming, Sharon reviewed the events of the evening and wondered why she couldn’t talk to Tony anymore. Each time she tried, she ended up baiting him, or sliding some invisible door closed between them, or simply running away.

      She was painfully conscious of his nearness and of her need for him, which had not been assuaged by months of telling herself that the relationship was over. She put one hand over her mouth to keep from calling his name.

      From downstairs she heard the low but swelling strains of familiar music. Once, the notes had rippled over her like the rays of the sun on a pond, filling her with light. They had flung her high on soaring crescendos, even as she clung to Tony and cried out in passion….

      Sharon burrowed beneath the covers and squeezed her eyes shut and, an eternity later, she slept. When she awakened the room was filled with sunlight and the scent of fresh coffee.

      After a long, leisurely stretch, Sharon opened her eyes. A dark head rested on the pillow beside hers, and she felt a muscular leg beneath the softness of her thigh.

      “Oh, God,” she whispered, “we made love and I missed it!”

      A hoarse laugh sounded from the pillow. “No such luck,” Tony said. “Our making love, I mean. We didn’t.”

      Sharon sat up, dragging the sheets up to cover her bosom even though she was wearing a modest cotton nightgown. She distinctly remembered putting it on, and with a quick motion of her hands, she lifted the sheet just far enough away from her body that she could check. The nightgown was still in evidence.

      “What the devil do you think you’re doing, Tony Morelli?” she demanded furiously.

      He rolled onto his back, not even bothering to open his eyes, and simultaneously pulled the covers up over his face, muttering insensibly all the while.

      “You guys made up, huh?” Briana asked from the doorway. She was all smiles and carrying two cups of coffee, hence the delicious aroma.

      “No, we didn’t,” Sharon said primly.

      “Not a very diplomatic answer,” Tony observed from beneath the covers. “Now, she’s going to ask—”

      “Then how come you’re in bed together?” the child demanded.

      “See?” said Tony.

      Sharon elbowed him hard, and crimson color flooded her face. “I don’t know,” she said with staunch conviction.

      Briana brought the coffee to the end table on Sharon’s side of the bed, and some of it slopped over when she set the cups down. There were tears brimming in her eyes.

      “Damn you, Tony,” Sharon whispered, as though there were no chance of Bri’s not hearing what she said. “Explain this to her—right now!”

      With a groan, Tony dramatically fought his way out from under the blankets and sat up. “There’s only one bed,” he said reasonably, running a hand through his rumpled hair and then yawning again. “The couch is too short for me, so I just crawled in with your mom.”

      “Oh,” Bri said grudgingly, and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

      “She didn’t understand,” Sharon lamented.

      Tony reached past her to collect one of the cups of coffee. “Kids don’t need to understand everything,” he said.

      If the man hadn’t been holding a steaming hot cup of coffee, Sharon would have slapped him. As it was, she glared at him and stretched out a hand for her own cup.

      After a while Tony got up and wandered into the adjoining bathroom, and Sharon didn’t look to see whether or not he was dressed. When he returned, he crawled back into bed with her, rolling over so that one of his legs rested across both of hers.

      His mouth descended toward hers, smelling of toothpaste, and he was definitely not dressed.

      “Tony, don’t—”

      The kiss was warm, gentle and insistent. Sharon trembled as all the familiar sensations